Reflection
by Morgana Maeve
Summary: Axel.Axel::Edited Lemon: Who says reflections are just for looking at?


Reflection

Morgana Maeve

8/8/08 – Axel/Axel. Na ha, Happy Olympics, people. Happy Axel-on-Axel-goodness day, too.

Warnings: PWP. Doppelganger action. (Edited on ; go to the profile to find link.)

Disclaimer: I don't own Axel. Square does.

oOo

There is no such thing as night in Twilight Town, only a subtly muted orange that heralds the final end of a day forever gone. This orange is burnished, fiery and hot, a burnt and angry color that hides a raging night behind it. By morning, it is gone, replaced by lacy pinks that soften an irritated morning, making the sun seem happy to rise instead of appearing ornery and cantankerous like it is. But by whatever means, the inhabitants of this strange town know they should pull down the shutters and crawl into their soft beds, blocking out the orange with dark covers and pillows.

On such a non-night, the nonexistent travel.

There is no sign of life in Sunset Terrace except for the night-flowers, blooming in nacreous splendor, offering themselves as virgin sacrifices to a moon that is never seen. Axel treads quietly, booted feet silent on quaintly paved walkways, black coat barely brushing against the bricks. He is contrasting, the only darkness found within the town, outline a blot of gloom in the sky.

He looks neither left nor right as he strides purposely down the hill and toward the waterfall, mirror made of silvery water, a living reflection of the town in a frothing world rushing wetness.

He stops in front of the thin decoration and pulls back his hood, spiked red hair clinging for a minute to the charged leather. For a second, he has no reflection, an empty man staring at a liquid reflector, flowers visible behind him. But imperceptibly, slowly, his image appears, first a dark blob, then a gray outline, until finally, there it is, frowning as he is frowning, arms hanging at its sides as his are. Axel smiles.

A fraction of a second later, the reflection does too.

It steps out of the water like a nymph sliding through vines, parting the water like curtains to a tease show, pulling one booted foot out of the writhing pool and onto hard grass. The other foot follows, and the doppelganger stands in front of Axel, exactly the same but so slightly different. There is something off-kilter, something not quite right, a backwardness that can't be explained, but neither really care.

Axel grabs his coat with both hands and so does his image, and together, they rip it off, zippers flying off with a zing of protest, leather pooling at their feet. Both are naked from the waist up, identical bodies of skin and nipples, trail of hair leading down beneath waistlines. And they both have that same, slightly mad, grin.

They come together under a sky of burning gold that clashes horribly with their hair. The reflection is wet, silky and smooth and inhuman, a being of ghostly ectoplasm that ripples beneath Axel's fingertips. The mirror-fingers that splay on his chest the same his do on the reflection's chest are cool, rounded, unlike anything he's ever felt before.

It is the only physical contact they have, those hands exploring regions unseen, moving in the same places as one, fingers identical save for little details that cannot be explained.

Every move is the same, arms moving in tandem, impatient jerks at stubborn buttons that refuse to come undone, pants catching on boots that suck at flesh and stick on heels. But they still both manage to slip out of their clothes, Axel's garments heaped in a pile around him, blotches on emerald grass, his doppelganger's articles merely melting away, damp patches deepening the green.

Both are naked now, lithe bodies glowing in frustrated light, turning peachy skin into blazing funeral pyres, devils on the grass. They have separated to slip from their clothes, and now they are back together, hands and arms pressed together, deviating at the elbows. It sends thrills up Axel's unfeeling body, and he smirks at himself, tingling as it smirks back.

In a tandem that can never be created by two distinct people, their arms slowly part and fall, trailing fingers across flesh and reflection, each one gasping as fingers trace tiny patterns over bodies. Their hands come to their throats, gentle caress, playing close attention to collarbones and soft depressions of skin, Axel's hands hot against his bones, the reflection's equally as cool on itself. Only their unengaged hands are touching each other.

Axel sends his palm down to his chest, dual gasps as long digits trail down sensitive sternums, and he bites his lip as his fingertips close around a nipple and press, toying with the bud, rolling it in his palm. As he watches, his reflection mimics his every moment, from those playing fingers to those erotic facial expressions.

It is just like a mirror.

Axel continues his conquest downward, hand running over anticipating stomach, taut muscles quivering with expectation, and the living reflection shows that his face is flushed, eye dilated, mouth open and panting, pleasure overloading nonexistent nerves, fraying sensations that make his head snap back and his hand to clasp his reflection's. Their fingers intertwine, and he feels the thing's strange existence pulse beneath his grip, throbbing in a rhythm the same as the insistent need deep within his belly.

His own hand on his thigh, massaging stretched muscle, fingers dipping close to erect hardness, brushing through sweating folds and creases, and his reflection follows him, eyes trained on his, hands still closed on one another, waiting.

The first touch is tentative, an experiment that brings bursts of color beneath shut eyes, but he forces them open, forces himself to watch his own reaction displayed brazenly for his viewing.

A knot forms beneath his navel, threads of pleasure joining in a messy union, pulling at every limb, every extension of his body.

It's almost painful, it's so good, and he cries out, pitching forward. He would have fallen, but his doppelganger slides too, and they catch each other, moaning and groaning into matching mouths, tongue sliding easily across tongue and teeth, lips mashed together. Axel tastes the sweet, clean taste of water.

But they are not done.

The pleasure coils tighter and tighter, and his muscles clamp down on nothing. It borders on pain, and his body shakes, curled around his arm and hand, breathing heavy and deep, droplets of liquid salt dappling the ground around him.

There is a moment of nothing, a space of emptiness that lasts forever and for fleeting seconds at the same time. Movement stops, and the sky erupts in glowing orange, blast of burning clouds speeding across a dying sky.

The coil springs, dipping beneath itself before leaping in a massive overdose of ecstasy. Axel's body snaps, spine bending backwards, and he falls to his knees, hips jerking crazily, mouth open in silent moan.

The pleasure is too intense to last, and it ebbs away, but was it even there in the first place? What can a Nobody feel but nothing? Perhaps this all just a pretty dream, a faded memory that lingers in wisps and fog.

And when Axel looks up, the doppelganger is gone. He catches a glimpse of it flowing back into the waterfall, seductive smile on its lips, and then all it is is himself, gasping and panting at a disappearing reflection.

The sky fades to pink.

oOo

I'm watching the Olympics right now, so I'm not that coherent. I want to eat my dumplings, too. (Oh, the irony.)

Ha ha, (CENSORED). I couldn't help myself. My brain is gradually becoming more and more twisted and depraved. I will never find a boyfriend.

Reading and reviewing makes Axel touch himself more. So go do it.


End file.
